


you're gonna carry that weight

by knightswatch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Blood Oaths, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bonding, Flirting, M/M, Magic, Minor Injuries, On the Run, Snark, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There <i>is</i> no more kingdom, not until we find Oikawa-san,” he lifts Kentarou's right hand, releasing his wrist to steal the knife from it and sighing, pricking the tip of his thumb so a bead of blood rolls out. “Swear me an oath instead.”</p><p>“What?” Kentarou's voice is wary, and he almost takes the loosening of Yahaba's grip to run. He knows the courtier is right, that there's nothing but a crushed, smoldering remains of a castle to return to. It stands to reason that Iwaizumi would have taken Oikawa and run first thing—the knights have been trained to fight without him overseeing their every move anyway, not that it likely would have mattered.</p><p>“I need you to swear you'll <i>live</i> for me, Kyoutani Kentarou,” his eyes are serious and he holds his bleeding thumb out, both eyebrows lifted. When Kentarou doesn't respond right away he makes an exasperated sound. “I can't do this without help. Make me an oath, if it's so important to you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're gonna carry that weight

When it happens, in the very darkest hours of the night, no one is prepared. Kentarou wakes to a shaking in the stones around him, the sound of wood splintering and shouts outside his window, and he rolls off his bed and stumbles through the shadows of the room. He finds the time to belt a sword to his waist and pull boots on his feet before he's stumbling out the door, still using the back of his hand to wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

He nearly stumbles into Kindaichi in the hall, finding the trainee knight in the same state of confusion, whipping his head around wildly and looking like he's trying to find someone to tell him what's going on. Luck would have it, of course, that he sees Kentarou first, running his fingers through his vertical hair with jerky motions.

“K- Kyoutani-san! W- what's happening?” It stings somewhere in the bottom of his chest how scared the kid sounds, but Kentarou shakes it out of his limbs, moving down the hallway without slowing down, letting Kindaichi chase after his heels.

“Don't know,” what does the kid expect him to say? There's very few things that could make an entire castle shake like _that_ in the middle of the night, and none of them are good. Really, he's just hoping it's not a dragon because that would probably suck.

 

It's not a dragon. Instead, it's an entire army delivered on their doorstep courtesy of Shiratorizawa, and they don't stand a chance. 

It takes as much time for Kentarou to lose track of Kindaichi as it does for him to have a sword in the gut of an enemy, and if he had space in his head to focus on it, he'd be annoyed by that fact. The kid is too young to be in the middle of what's going to turn into a real war all on his own. He doesn't manage to find Iwaizumi, either. Instead, unarmored and overwhelmed, he ends up with a slice diagonally across his chest that sets his skin on fire.

He also loses his sword somewhere along the way, which is worse, because not only is he stumbling injured through a battlefield, he's unarmed to boot.

When a hand closes on his arm he reacts as quickly as he can, turning and swinging a fist, narrowly missing breaking Yahaba's jaw with the motion. The courtier gives him an irritated expression in response, dressed like he's been awake all day rather than just rolled out of bed, with bags under his eyes and a thin slice across his cheek, a small trickle of blood running along the line of his jaw.

“We need to go,” his eyes are wild, trying to pull Kentarou away from the fighting. Behind him, part of a roof has caught fire, and it casts shadows across his face, flickering orange on his pale skin. Kentarou stands firm, starts to shake his head, only to be jerked another step by Yahaba's surprising strength. “We need to _go_.”

He drags Kentarou by the arm until they're both sprinting for the woods beyond one of the shattered walls, darkness swallowing the pair of them up. Running gets harder and harder as the pain enveloping his chest gets worse, and his fingers tingle from the loss of blood. Yahaba turns when Kentarou stumbles, blinking at his clumsiness and only then seeming to notice his torn and bloodied shirt, running his fingers back through his hair. “Okay. We have to stop here.”

“No, we have to go back,” Kentarou snarls, pushing himself upright despite the pain and the cramping of his side telling him that he probably won't make it out well if he does. Still, he leans forward, grabbing the small knife from Yahaba's belt and narrowing his eyes to survey it in the dark. It's not an ideal weapon, but it'll certainly do its job in his hands. “ _I_ have to go back.”

It's for the better, he knows, if Yahaba disappears. They won't give him the honor of a quick and quiet death like Kentarou. He's the king's left-hand man, second only to Iwaizumi, and the things he knows are sure to be invaluable. Which means capture, and for a stubborn bastard like Yahaba, undoubtedly torture. Yahaba grabs hold of both his wrists now, eyes wide. “If you go back there, you will die.”

“That's what the oath is for, right?” Kentarou snorts, shrugging his shoulders. He's not fond of the idea of dying, far from it, but he gave his word as a knight of Aoba Johsai that he'd lay his life down if the kingdom required it. Yahaba shakes his head, squeezes his hands around Kentarou's wrists until they ache, knuckles white and desperate.

“There _is_ no more kingdom, not until we find Oikawa-san,” he lifts Kentarou's right hand, releasing his wrist to steal the knife from it and sighing, pricking the tip of his thumb so a bead of blood rolls out. “Swear me an oath instead.”

“What?” Kentarou's voice is wary, and he almost takes the loosening of Yahaba's grip to run. He knows the courtier is right, that there's nothing but a crushed, smoldering remains of a castle to return to. It stands to reason that Iwaizumi would have taken Oikawa and run first thing—the knights have been trained to fight without him overseeing their every move anyway, not that it likely would have mattered.

“I need you to swear you'll _live_ for me, Kyoutani Kentarou,” his eyes are serious and he holds his bleeding thumb out, both eyebrows lifted. When Kentarou doesn't respond right away he makes an exasperated sound. “I can't do this without help. Make me an oath, if it's so important to you.”

He doesn't exactly want to admit how important it is to him, not with Yahaba giving him a look like he's an idiot, so he bites into the thumb of his right hand until he tastes blood and holds it out in return. Yahaba wrinkles his nose delicately but sighs, pressing their thumbs together for a moment before nodding his head. There's a strange heat, a crackling tingle in the tips of Kentarou's fingers that creeps up his arm and attaches itself to his spine but fades when Yahaba's hand drops. “You're feral, aren't you?”

Kentarou rolls his eyes at that, wonders exactly what he's saddled himself with. He shakes his other arm out of Yahaba's grip, sighing and swiping the blood off on his sleeve. It's mostly indistinguishable from the rest and starts walking again. Yahaba snorts. “So you _don't_ want me to heal you?”

“You could've done that _before_ ,” he snarls, mostly because he had no idea Yahaba was magic to begin with. Yahaba shrugs his shoulders, backing Kentarou up against the broad trunk of a tree and cracking his knuckles with a smirk.

“This way you won't run,” blue light seems to gather around his fingers, and Kentarou's first instinct is to try and get away from it, but he clenches his hands tighter and forces himself to stay still. The most surprising thing, he finds, is how _cold_ the magic feels as it knits his flesh back together. Yahaba wobbles slightly on his feet, jerking his hands back, the light fading. “That's all I can do.”

The cut isn't entirely gone, but it's knit together well enough, and no longer bleeding. Yahaba seems slightly paler, but he stands steady and nods his head, setting off deeper into the forest.

“So where, exactly, is Oikawa anyway?” Kentarou asks, raising an eyebrow and stumbling over branches in an effort to keep up with Yahaba's light footsteps. 

“Don't know,” Yahaba shrugs his shoulders with a small laugh, and Kentarou blinks his eyes roughly, cracking a branch loudly under his foot with the next step. Yahaba turns to glare at him for the noise, sighing. “I have a few ideas on how to find him, calm down.”

“He didn't _tell you_?” Kentarou positively snarls the words out, not understanding how in the world they could be so disorganized. He should turn around and go see if he can save any of the other knights, fuck whatever oath he's made to Yahaba.

He doesn't, of course, but he thinks bitterly about it for another moment.

“Of course, he didn't,” Yahaba sniffs, rolling his eyes. “I don't exactly _want_ that kind of information to be ripped out of my head.”

“Oh,” fucking magic. Kentarou sighs, stumbling once again and almost slamming into Yahaba's back, sighing. “Can we, at least, stop until we can fuckin' see? I'm gonna break my leg.”

Yahaba sighs like having Kentarou with him is some kind of great burden, despite _demanding_ he come along on this, seemingly incredibly stupid, plan. “Yes. I suppose we should rest until morning.”

“You're gonna want a fire,” Kentarou leans over, gathering sticks from around his feet, along with handfuls of whatever dry leaves he can find, kicking a roughly cleared circle in the dirt and piling them there. “Because if we don't have one, there's gonna be wolves.”

“You don't really think they're going to just show up out of nowhere do you, Kyoutani-kun?” Yahaba raises an eyebrow, and Kentarou ignores him, grabbing the knife again and scowling at the blade. The steel is good, but without flint on hand, it doesn't help him much with building a fire.

“I'm literally _covered_ in blood,” Kentarou reminds him after a moment, nodding at the pile. “Magic me a fire.”

“Do you even know how magic works?” Yahaba narrows his eyes and frowns when Kentarou shakes his head, kneeling down next to him and holding both hands over the small pile. His whole frame seems to shudder, and Kentarou is reminded of how cold the magic he used before felt and wonders if it can really be used to create a spark. He realizes after a moment that Yahaba is whispering softly to himself, words in a language that Kentarou doesn't understand.

The stack of tinder catches a moment later, though for several seconds the fire flickers silver rather than red, and Kentarou leans away from it, nose wrinkling, unsettled. The smoke smells more fragrant than it should as well, like fresh bread and burnt sugar. He settles himself as far as possible from the flames until they turn a more normal color and the smell starts to fade.

Yahaba rolls his eyes with a soft laugh, shaking his head and sitting much closer than Kentarou, brushing his fingers through his hair. “You're _really_ not used to magic, are you?”

“No,” he responds tersely, wrapping his arms around his knees, ignoring the distant ache in his chest. It's not so bad he can't ignore it, and a far cry than some of the other injuries he's had, even just from practicing with Iwaizumi. “It's just… weird.”

“It's no different than a normal fire,” Yahaba rolls his eyes, then sighs softly when Kentarou doesn't move closer. “Well that's fine, sleep in the cold.”

“Not sleeping,” Kentarou rolls his eyes, resting his chin on his knees with a frown. He's still trying to figure out of Yahaba is stupid or not. “You think they're not gonna be looking for you?”

“So, the fire was to keep wolves away, but to what? Attract Shiratorizawa straight here?” 

“It's not _that_ big,” Kentarou rolls his eyes, unballing himself to cross his arms over his chest instead. He pulls the torn remains of his shirt off with a sigh, shaking his head. “Don't worry about it. They won't get you with me here.”

“How chivalrous,” Yahaba sits, laying back with his arms folded behind his head, closing his eyes softly. “I suppose that's the point, though, isn't it?”

“I guess,” Kentarou snorts. He stands once it seems like Yahaba has drifted off, stretching out his shoulders, grunting softly. The cut on his chest flexes oddly, the parts held together by magic at odd with the partially healed edges. There's still dried blood caking his skin, and Kentarou would probably gladly break a man's arm for clean water to shower in.

Or even news of who survived the fight.

He shakes the thought out of his head quickly, sitting back down heavily and unsettling the leaves around him, pushing his fingers back through his hair. He reminds himself that the fight isn't actually over, not until he's found Iwaizumi and Oikawa though he doesn't know what's supposed to happen after that.

Politics aren't his strong suit, anyway.

Yahaba seems to sleep without a worry on his mind until the sun starts to filter through the tops of the trees, leaves rustling around them with a gentle breeze that threatens the last smoldering remains of the fire. His eyes ease open gently, with a flutter before they open all the way, blinking at the trees and sky above him with a slight frown.

“There's a rock in my back,” well, he was almost pretty before he started complaining. Kentarou shrugs his shoulders with a soft laugh, rubbing his palm over his tired eyes.

“So, where are we going now?” He watches Yahaba sit up with a raised eyebrow, arms draped over his knees. “Can't go back.”

“Obviously,” Yahaba sighs, rubbing at the offending spot on his back and shaking his head. “Though I'm not sure you'll like where we _are_ going.”

“You said you knew how to find him,” Kentarou growls, a warning. He doesn't need more lies from Yahaba.

“I do. It involves meeting with… a friend of mine,” he pauses, eyes flicking away. “In Karasuno.”

“You're kidding me,” Kentarou's voice goes flat, shaking his head. “They'll kill us.”

“They won't kill me,” He smiles, pushing himself up and dusting the leaves off of his back. “And you already swore you'd stay alive for me.”

“It's not some kind of personal favor,” Kentarou rolls his eyes, huffing air through his teeth. “I'm not gonna keel over just to spite you.”

“Well regardless, neither of us are going to die,” Yahaba waves his hand, nodding his head. “C'mon, we need to go this way.”

“I need a _weapon_ ,” he sighs, passing Yahaba's terrible knife back after kicking dirt onto the remaining embers of the fire. “Your pig sticker isn't going to be enough.”

“My contact can help with that,” he sounds sure of himself, picking carefully through the woods until they finally come along a trail, or, at least, a deer path with slightly _less_ in it.

“And who is this _contact_?” He's sure that Yahaba started out saying 'friend' though Kentarou doubts Yahaba has many of _those_.

“Kiyoko Shimizu,” he says the name like it's supposed to mean something, then sighs when Kentarou blinks at him. “She's Karasuno's sorceress. I helped her apprentice with a few magical dilemmas in the past.”

“So, she's going to find him with… magic?” He asks, prepared to get scolded all over again on how magic doesn't work that way, but Yahaba nods his head.

“Scrying. I'm not good enough to do it myself, but if she can scry Oikawa-san we can figure out how to reach him,” he seems pleased that Kentarou is apparently catching up with their plan. “If we find a river I'm dunking you in it.”

Kentarou chuckles, despite his desire not to, nodding his head and looking down at himself again. The only part of his chest not totally covered in blood is where Yahaba healed the cut itself, and despite knowing that most if it isn't his own, it still seems like _a lot_. “I've looked better.”

“Yes, you have,” Yahaba agrees, then blinks rapidly, clamping his mouth shut with red lighting his cheeks on fire. “I- I mean—you look like a brute! Walking around shirtless and covered in blood!”

Kentarou's forehead furrows, staring at Yahaba and wondering what _exactly_ that was all about.

Luck would have that they do find a river, and Kentarou kicks his boots off, followed by his pants, wading in to scrub himself off. He pretends not to notice Yahaba watching him wash off, the gentle swirls of the current carrying dried blood away. The water is bracingly cold, and after a moment he grins to himself, cupping it in his hands and turning, splashing it at Yahaba.

The courtier wails, leaping back when some of it hits his ankles, frowning. “Excuse you.”

“Not up for a swim?” He laughs, cocking his head to the side and rubbing water on the back of his neck, letting it run in cold rivulets down his back. It'll be worse when he steps out into the air again, but for now, he's _almost_ adjusted to the temperature. Yahaba snorts, shaking his head.

“No thank you. I'm perfectly content right here,” He sits down again, and, this time, his eyes are wary. Kentarou gives him half a grin, water sloshing around his ankles as he wades his way out and stretches out on the grass a few feet away to dry off. Yahaba is _still_ staring.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow, almost flinching back when Yahaba leans over, poking at his chest. This time, it isn't at the cut already there, but at the trio of shiny scars on his side.

“What are those from?” He blinks, a small frown on his face. Kentarou lifts his head to glance at them, shrugging his shoulders.

“Chimera,” he lifts his hand to trace over them as well, shrugging his shoulders and making the grass rustle under him. His hand wraps around Yahaba's wrist, guiding it to a round scar on his shoulder, smiling just a little. “Got this one from a fairy.”

“Here I always thought they were cute,” Yahaba raises an eyebrow, not saying anything about Kentarou moving his hand around. Kentarou's face darkens just before he shakes his head hard. He does _not_ think they're cute. Not anymore. “What about these?”

The tip of Yahaba's finger traces from his shoulder to his neck, where there's a nest of long scars, all pale white and slightly raised where the skin knit together once again. The touch is something like a tickle, a sensation that makes Kentarou shift slightly, ending up with his head tilted slightly away like he's showing them off.

Just below there's a single round mark, with two that match it on the back of his shoulder, all from the same incident. Yahaba's hand rests against his shoulder, warm, with skin that's surprisingly soft, and Kentarou is suddenly _extremely_ aware of them touching. He can't quite make himself pull away, and he tilts his face further to the side instead, frowning.

“Ah—Gryphon. The long ones are from the ah, lion feet,” he shifts uncomfortably against the grass, skin tingling where Yahaba strokes them again. He seems to notice the motion this time because he draws his hand back with a small, apologetic smile.

“I remember when we had that problem,” he folds his hands in his lap again and Kentarou sits up quickly, feeling restlessness creep into the suddenly empty space in his chest. He feels like a lantern suddenly blown out—still full of fuel and just waiting for the touch of a flame. He's not quite sure what to make of having a feeling like that from Yahaba, so he pulls his clothes on again instead, keeping his back turned.

“Wasn't so bad,” he answers after a moment that stretches too long, swallowing. It wasn't a good time, either, and Iwaizumi had given him no end of hell for almost getting himself killed for trying to take care of things himself. “I heal quick, anyway.”

He turns then, pointing to where the cut on his chest has indeed continued sealing itself again on its own, shrugging. Yahaba blinks at that, pouncing to his feet to examine it more closely, a smile stretching over his face. “You didn't tell me you were old blood, Kyoutani-kun.”

He leans back, quick enough to be called a flinch, frowning. It feels weird all over again to have Yahaba in his space and he rubs the back of his neck just for something to do with his itching hands. “It's not that big a deal.”

“It's not usual to see someone with old blood who's such a novice around magic,” Yahaba coos, laughing when Kentarou sets off walking to get away from the conversation. He doesn't get the fascination with the old bloods to begin with. 

There are four sects that make up the old blood to begin with; the royals like Oikawa, attendants like Iwaizumi, the fey, though Kentarou has never met any, and Kentarou's own blood, from people to the north who were at one point said to be seers living deep under a glacier, or barbarians ruling over kingdoms over ice, depending who you asked. Kentarou's never even _been_ further north than Datekogyou, and in the end, it all seems fairly inconsequential. He's not a seer, and he doesn't have an ice kingdom to rule, just faster healing than most with a much better tolerance for cold.

“Does that make you a fey creature?” Yahaba grins, raising both eyebrows, tapping Kentarou's arm before he gets out of reach. “Or maybe an attendant, since you clearly don't have a fey's sense of direction.”

Kentarou stops at that, turning with a sigh, motioning for Yahaba to lead the way. “Northerner.”

It's a short, sharp answer, and Yahaba tilts his head with a little hum, walking briskly ahead, his curiosity obviously far from spent. “Have you had a vision of your own death, then?”

“Of course not! What the fuck?” Kentarou frowns, stopping short and shaking his head. Yahaba shrugs his shoulders, laughing. “That's just a stupid myth, that doesn't really happen.”

“Whatever you say, Kyoutani-kun.”

It takes them until after nightfall to come out on the other side of the forest and find a town, and by the time they do, Kentarou is dead on his feet. The only food they were able to find was some berries that Yahaba promised weren't poisonous but had made Kentarou eat before him anyway.

He's so tired now he's not even thinking about food, or the fact that they only have a few coins that were already in Yahaba's purse. He scowls softly at them, half-dragging Kentarou into an inn behind him and negotiating a room with the woman behind the counter. The words are a blur in Kentarou's tired mind, and he nearly falls asleep on his feet, leaning against Yahaba.

He's still shirtless, though looking much less injured than before, and, at least, he's not covered in blood anymore. She must give in to whatever Yahaba is asking, because the courtier elbows at him until Kentarou bolts upright, rubbing at his eyes and grumbling something that's supposed to be 'sorry' but doesn't quite make it all the way.

It escapes his notice that they only have one bed, really. He makes it through kicking his boots off before he simply collapses on his back and closes his eyes, lost to sleep before he's done anything further to make himself comfortable.

When he wakes up, trying to bolt upright due to a noise somewhere outside the window, the room is dark. Yahaba is curled neatly under the blankets with his head pillowed on Kentarou's chest, fingers curled loosely into a fist by his face. There's a small frown on his face, and his fingers twitch slightly tighter. He must have rolled on top of Kentarou's arm because it's asleep underneath him. He cranes his neck to look around the room with a grunt, looking for anything that might have drawn his attention and finding nothing except for Yahaba's clothes draped over the back of a wooden chair.

There's another bang, closer, this time, followed by heavy boots creaking up the wooden stairs. Kentarou curses softly under his breath, glancing down at Yahaba before pulling his numb arm free, shaking his head.

He rolls himself out of the bed, grabbing the knife from Yahaba's belt and gritting his teeth sharply together, debating peeking out the door. He decides against it after a moment, leaning to shake Yahaba's shoulder.

“Time for us to go,” he hisses, and Yahaba blinks against the darkness, staring at Kentarou's face and shaking his head.

“Sleep on the floor if it bothers you so much,” he huffs, then notices the knife, sitting up and looking around, rubbing at his eyes. “What is it?”

“Someone just burst their way in here,” he hisses, tossing Yahaba's clothes at him. “Get dressed. We'll have to go out the window.”

“Good thing its only the second floor,” Yahaba sighs, pulling his shirt on with quick, jerky motions. His hands are shaking, Kentarou pretends not to notice it. He can hear the sound of doors being wrenched open down the hall and he creeps over to pull his own boots back on, wrinkling his nose as the footsteps get closer.

“Tuck your body in when you jump, don't hit with your feet,” he pushes quickly back to his feet, shoving Yahaba toward the window, turning his back to it as the steps stop just outside their door. “Shit.”

There's a loud squeak of old wood and bad hinges as Yahaba pushes the window open, and Kentarou grits his teeth, switching his grip on the knife so the blade points behind him instead. He's not going to be able to simply stab someone in the throat and run, and this grip makes for quicker slashes. He elbows at Yahaba's back, hissing at the light that hits his eyes when the door is kicked open, splinters of wood flying from it. “Go, idiot!”

Yahaba shouts as he flings himself out, and Kentarou doesn't follow him immediately. He squares himself in front of the window instead, raising his eyebrows at the pair of young men standing in the door. They look barely old enough to be holding the swords in their hands, one with dark hair cut in almost a circular shape around his head, and the other blond with a soft scowl and intelligent eyes.

Kentarou wonders, just for a moment, if Yahaba is smart enough to take the chance he'll need to run. His chances of beating two knights, both armored and armed, aren't promising.

As soon as the thought enters his head, something hot and demanding wells up inside of him. It's like the adrenaline that accompanies a fight, only it wants the exact _opposite_ of a fight. It's a compulsion, something that refuses to be pushed to the back of his mind, and he stumbles until his back hits the window, gripping the knife between his teeth and leaping out as well.

He recalls his own advice, tucking his body forward and hitting the ground with his shoulder, rolling in the dirt and blinking sparks out of his vision. He nearly bats away the hand that lands on his shoulder out of reflex, then blinks up at Yahaba. He picks himself up, passing the knife back and giving Yahaba another shove to start running. They don't have time for anything else, not with both of the knights Kentarou left behind sounding the alarm on their escape.

“Guess saying in towns isn't really an option,” Yahaba pants when they finally stop, once again in the woods with the moon high overhead. Kentarou grunts, rolling his shoulder, glad to find that it doesn't hurt more than a nasty bruise would cause. Yahaba watches him carefully, hands on his knees, leaning forward with a flush creeping down the sides of his neck. “I didn't think you were going to jump.”

“I wasn't,” Kentarou shakes his head, running his fingers back through his hair with a frustrated sound. “But I couldn't—I knew I wouldn't be able to beat both of them and I _had_ to run.”

Yahaba blinks, something fleeing across his expression quicker than Kentarou can catch. He sighs then, standing up all the way and shaking his head. “Well, we can probably cross the border by morning.”

“You gonna be able to find your friend before they kill us?”

“We'll have to hope so,” Yahaba grins, quick and cocky, and bumps his shoulder against Kentarou's as he starts walking.

 

Yahaba's right, and by the time the sun is rising over their backs, the two of them are creeping through an empty field at the very edge of Karasuno's borders. According to Yahaba, his friend is in the Black City, which is mercifully only a few miles from the border with Aoba Johsai. It's early enough that most of the countryside they travel through is still sleeping, and they're far enough away that they can go back to walking on the main roads and hope that Yahaba and his fancy court clothes aren't recognized.

Kentarou looks worse, scarred and shirtless with a knife on his belt and bloodstains and tears in his pants, the latter probably from his most recent fall out of the window. Yahaba still looks perfect, with his hair all in order and dust apparently repelled from his clothes. Kentarou hopes that he can just pass for a noble's weird barbarian bodyguard, and people look scared of staring at him for too long.

They reach the Black City in the mid-morning, with an open air market being set up around them. Kentarou taps the back of Yahaba's shoulder, raising both eyebrows. “Got enough gold left to get me a shirt?”

“Why would I want to do that?” He sniffs, and there's a twinkle of amusement in his face that makes Kentarou roll his eyes. Yahaba chuckles, patting his shoulder and turning away again. “I'd rather save money and enjoy the view.”

“Idiot,” he huffs, feeling the tips of his ears burn red. 

Karasuno's official sorceress apparently lives in a tiny potions shop that Yahaba leads them both inside, smiling at the blonde girl behind the counter with something that approaches charm. She smiles weakly back, her eyes constantly darting over his shoulder to stare at Kentarou instead. Yahaba glances back at him as well and raises an eyebrows, like he's requesting Kentarou _stop_ being intimidating (as if he's even trying), and clears his throat gently. “I'm sorry to be a bother, Hitoka-san, but I need to speak with Kiyoko-san.”

“W- who is that?” The girl squeaks, looking at Kentarou, then leaps back, holding both her hands up and shaking her head. “I- I mean! I just n- need a name… t- to give her! I'm sorry if we've met before but I don't remember!”

“Kyoutani Kentarou,” Yahaba doesn't seem bothered by her nervousness. He chuckles, though it sticks awkward in the back of his throat, watching her scamper out of the room and up the stairs, hands clung into fists against her chest. Kentarou rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow.

“I'd look less scary with _clothes_ ,” he teases, and Yahaba smirks in return. His posture straightens when the blonde comes jogging back down the stairs, looking more nervous than before. Behind her is a tall woman with inky black hair and a serene face. She gives the blonde a slow smile, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Thank you, Hitoka-chan. Could you watch the shop while I meet with these two? The Tanaka's are supposed to be making a delivery soon,” she waits until Hitoka nods at her and shuffles behind the counter again, as far as she can stand from Kentarou while still staring at him. He meets her eyes, tilting his head slightly and doing his best to smile when her face goes red at being caught. Yahaba jabs at him with an elbow before bowing.

“Kiyoko-san, it's been awhile, hasn't it?” She returns the bow, tucking her hair behind her ear and nodding, gesturing him up the stairs. Yahaba smiles and Kentarou follows after him, not sure what else to do as they walk up the stairs.

“It has—I'm surprised to see you here without some warning, Yahaba-san,” her voice is too cool for Kentarou to interpret much of a mood from it, but Yahaba nods his head with a little sigh.

The room she leads them to seems too large for the small building they entered—with large windows letting natural light stream in. There's a table that takes up most of the center of the room, a stone bowl set into the middle of it. Kentarou can't even begin to name all the plants that line the walls, dried and tied together, some fresh, with flowers growing on the sill of the windows. It smells like fresh rain inside, and Yahaba doesn't hesitate to take a seat at one of the tables.

“I'm afraid it's an emergency. No doubt you've heard by now what's happened,” he gestures for Kentarou to sit as well, and he does, dropping into one of the wooden seats, still craning his neck to look around the room. A cat darts by his feet, quick as a flash, nearly making him leap out of the chair in surprise.

“Ah—don't mind him,” Kiyoko smiles softly, taking a seat of her own. It seems like she notices Kentarou for the first time, adjusting her glasses and blinking softly. “Oh. Your bodyguard is a northerner?”

“Y- yeah,” he responds gruffly, nodding at the question. He's never had someone guess at it so quickly, even if the blood doesn't feel much like a real part of him, and it's unsettling. Something about this woman makes him sure he doesn't want to do anything that would piss her off. He doesn't argue with being Yahaba's bodyguard, though, it's as good a title as any. She inclines her head, turning back to Yahaba.

“You're searching for Oikawa-san, then? Assuming he didn't perish in the fighting,” there's no smugness to her tone, just fact, even as Yahaba's smile freezes in place.

“He didn't. He had Iwaizumi-san with him, it's not as if he'd go down so easily,” his eyebrow twitches just slightly, and Kiyoko's lips tilt just a little more into a smile. She's teasing Yahaba, Kentarou realizes with a barely restrained chuckle. “I was hoping you'd scry for him.”

“Why didn't you simply ask your bodyguard?” She blinks, looking between them and pausing when the two only give her confused looks in return. “Northerners all possess the ability to scry.”

“I dunno how to do any of that,” Kentarou grumbles, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. Kiyoko gives him another one of her little smiles, holding a hand out and nodding her head.

“That's alright, I can teach you—it won't be hard.” Kentarou still hesitates before taking her hand, less surprised by its softness than by Yahaba's. It's not likely she does much work that would make them rough and calloused like his own. He only notices the needle in her other hand after she pricks his index finger with it, tilting his hand and squeezing a few drops of blood into the water, where they dissipate instantly, tinting it red. She leans forward, nodding at the large bowl in the middle of the table. “You'll just have to stare into the water and focus on what you want it to show you.”

“That's it?” He raises both eyebrows, sighing when she nods and staring into the water. Right away, he has the sense that it isn't entirely normal, the surface seems too smooth, not even disturbed by his breath. He keeps his eyes open, watching his brows furrow in his reflection, focusing as hard as he can on Oikawa. He doesn't know the king very well, and for a moment it's hard to picture him in detail—tall, fluffy hair, always with one of those ridiculous grins on his face, laughing and flirting with nobles, the time Kentarou turned a corner and found him and Iwaizumi tucked into an alcove, a breath away from a kiss that they probably shouldn't have been sharing to begin with—

The surface of the water fogs over as he stares at it, swirling white for a moment before clearing again. This time, it shows Oikawa and Iwaizumi rather than Kentarou's own reflection. There's a scratch on the knight's face, and the both of them look _tired_. He doesn't recognize anything really about the room around them, except that maybe it's an inn? Iwaizumi is sitting on a bed, and he lowers his forehead to his palms, eyes closing. There's a window with yellow curtains and sunlight streaming through it, and a few feet away Oikawa is pacing back and forth across the floor, a fraught expression on his face.

Iwaizumi lifts his head slowly, with a sigh that makes his shoulders slump, and wraps his fingers around Oikawa's wrists, stilling the increasingly frantic movements of his hands. He turns to face Iwaizumi, and it becomes obvious that he's crying. Kentarou blinks, feeling like he's seeing something he isn't meant to, and the image slips away, the water going clear again.

The world shudders back into place around him, and he looks over at Yahaba with both eyebrows raised. “That help?”

“Three Lemons Inn,” Yahaba sighs, running his fingers back through his hair. “It's not that far—I didn't really think he'd run to Karasuno.”

“Three Lemons?” Kentarou blinks, leaning back in the seat. Yahaba nods his head, fingers pushing through the back of his hair with a nod, pushing himself out of the chair and nodding at Kyoutani to do the same, giving Kiyoko a quick bow.

“Thank you for your help, I'm sure you understand the need for us to go right away,” he doesn't ask her to keep Oikawa's location a secret, and Kentarou is surprised by his level of trust in this woman. She bows her head in return, hesitating for a moment.

“Best of luck, to both of you.”

 

Kentarou has to grab the back of Yahaba's shirt when they get outside, preventing him from charging off once again in his search for Oikawa, nodding at the market. “Food first.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to argue, then pinches it shut and nods his head, turning and walking next to Kentarou rather than ahead of them. The crowd forces them to walk close together, shoulders bumping, until Yahaba stops outside a stall selling meat buns and buys two for each of them, passing them to Kentarou with a shrug.

“Not exactly a slab of raw meat, I suppose you'll have to make do,” he grins and Kentarou rolls his eyes, stifling a chuckle into the warm dough of the dumpling when he takes a bite. 

He raises an eyebrow, shifting the food to one side of his mouth to chew. “So, what's the story with this inn?”

“You _have_ to ask with your mouth full?” Yahaba sighs, wrinkling his nose delicately. Kentarou shrugs in return, ripping another bite off the food. It's not surprising that he's starving after the way the last two days have gone, and he's surprised Yahaba still has manners at all. “But yes, I know the inn. It's a place Oikawa-san quite likes, actually. The owner is very kind and probably offered him shelter.”

“They gonna be safe there? How long will it take?” He swallows both of the bites in his mouth before asking, this time, pausing to let Yahaba eat as well. He still looks tired, with purple shadows under his eyes, but Kentarou supposes he's looked better himself and doesn't comment.

“Another full day, at least. It's in a small town to the west of here,” his teeth dig white lines into his lower lip, and Kentarou has to force himself not to stare and wonder at the plushness of it. It seems an odd thought, and he chases it away quickly. “They shouldn't run into any trouble, but we'll have to avoid the high road.”

“Camping in the woods it is then,” Kentarou shrugs his shoulders, digging into the second dumpling. It's no big deal to him—the bed in the inn Yahaba found probably would have been too soft for him to sleep in if he'd been any less dead on his feet at the time. “Think he's expecting you to show?”

“Unless he thinks I'm dead or captured,” Yahaba shrugs, sighing and looking down at his food. “We didn't exactly have a plan for this happening.”

“Well you won't end up either of those,” Kentarou shrugs, looking away as soon as the words leave his mouth, wondering why saying it makes his face burn. That's the whole reason he's here, isn't it? Rather than dragging around a platoon of injured knights to try and reclaim a broken castle, or dead. He can feel Yahaba staring at him, but he doesn't turn back, waiting until he's finished his food and clearing his throat awkwardly. “We should—get going then.”

“Right,” there's a burr of suspicion in Yahaba's tone, and Kentarou meets his eyes again for the first time, crossing his arms over his chest. The gesture seems to relax him somehow because he grins a beat later and sets off striding through the gathering crowd of the market like he expects them to part for him without question.

 

The day involves more than enough walking that Kentarou is almost too tired to drag them both into the woods to sleep. They've avoided the nicely paced high road, per Yahaba's suggestion, which leaves them slogging along the muddy trails that are cut deep with cart tracks and animal prints. He wants, after the sun goes down, to do nothing more than collapse into a bed and peel his now mud-stained pants off, but neither is really an option yet.

Yahaba, if anything, fares worse. He doesn't have the years of stamina, trained into him like Kentarou does, and he winds up walking with one arm around Kentarou's waist, leaning most of his weight into the knight's side to keep himself upright, nearly stumbling with each step as he drags his feet, catching along roots and branches.

Kentarou finds them a passable clearing between the trees, glad the sky has remained clear through the day at least. He doesn't have the energy for building a shelter, and he counts himself lucky to find a rock to strike against the blade of his (Yahaba's?) knife to make a fire, rather than trying to magic one again.

The courtier is asleep by the time Kentarou actually gets it burning, his head pillowed by one of his arms at an angle that looks uncomfortable. Kentarou sighs, shifting the two of them so Yahaba's head is in his lap instead, carding his fingers through Yahaba's fluffy hair slowly, grinning to himself at the disarray that he makes of it before smoothing it back onto place. He finds himself leaning his back against a tree and hoping the dig of bark into his shoulder blades is enough to keep him awake.

 

It turns out that it isn't, and he wakes up to a hand in his hair yanking his head back, exposing his throat and pressing the cool edge of a blade against it. Kentarou tenses, his eyes flicking down enough to catch the gloved hand holding it there and the fact that Yahaba is gone apparently. The glove is leather, black, not the kind that would be worn by a knight come to kill them both. 

The two of them are lucky for that much at least, even if it looks like they aren't for much else. He tenses his shoulders, pressing them back against the tree, finding his hands untied as well. Bandits with poor planning skills, it seems like. He doesn't immediately look for Yahaba, instead forces himself to stay still.

“I'm sorry we had to interrupt your cuddle time,” the voice by his ear is a chuckle and Kentarou shifts his eyes to the side, catching blond hair and glasses before the figure shifts further out of his view.

“W- we just want—w- whatever you and your friend have! N- no one has to get hurt,” the second voice is lower, nervous and stumbling, belonging to a boy standing in the dying light of the fire with Yahaba by his feet. He's stooped over, and his hand is shaking where he has the knife clutched in his fingers, olive hair falling into his freckled face, the light casting stark shadows on the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Yahaba's face is empty of expression, giving nothing of his thoughts on the situation away. Kentarou sighs, wrinkling his nose and wishing that the blond would just let go of his hair. It's severely increasing the urge to break one of his hands. 

He doesn't, though. He remembers being pushed to this—following a group of stupid boys and ending up trying to rob Iwaizumi in the middle of the night. They're probably desperate, the both of them.

“We don't have anything,” Yahaba sighs, staring at the blond holding onto Kentarou and shrugging his shoulders. The corner of his mouth catches toward a grin, raising an eyebrow. “He can't even afford a shirt.”

“T- Tsukki?” The freckled kid balks, his fingers tight at the collar of Yahaba's shirt. Kentarou's a little jealous of that, and he tries to shake his head out of Tsukki's grip. He can feel the cringe of his muscles, the nervous tightening of his fingers around the knife.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” He snaps in return, dropping Kentarou's head with a shove and standing up. It's a surprise how tall the both of them are, but skinny as well, dressed in battered clothes. “They're lying.”

“I wish,” Kentarou huffs, crossing his arms over his chest if only to make it obvious that they're both free. He glances between the both of them, shaking his head. “Why don't the two of you go home?”

Something in Tsukki's expression twists to anger at the words before smoothing out once again, gold eyes and a frozen smile. He turns it to Yahaba rather than Kyoutani, raising both of his eyebrows.

“What's your name?” Despite how hard he tries not to, the question makes Kentarou tense like a spring ready to explode outward. It's not likely that the news Shiratorizawa is looking for Yahaba has traveled this far already, is it? It's only been three days, and they're deep in the countryside now. Yahaba frowns for a second before huffing hair into his bangs.

“Kyoutani Kentarou,” it's weird hearing his name come out of Yahaba's like he owns it, and something twists in his stomach. It's a good bluff, good enough to pass. No one's going to be interested in who Kentarou is—he looks like a mercenary that could've been hired anywhere along the way, and a thousand quick covers run through his mind so fast that he can't grab hold of any of them.

Tsukki frowns, shaking his head and nodding at Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi balks for a second in return before his eyebrows pinch together and he swallows, twisting the blade in his grip so it nicks against the side of Yahaba's neck, barely enough contact to draw out a drop of blood.

It's not the cut that worries Kentarou, it's the shift in Yamaguchi's body. He knows this desperation too well, and he gives Yahaba a minute shake of his head.

“Yahaba Shigeru,” he sighs, twisting slightly against Yamaguchi's grip on the back of his neck. Tsukki's eyes don't go wide, but his mouth quirks further into a smirk. He moves another step closer, gesturing at Yamaguchi to pull Yahaba to his feet. 

Kentarou takes the moment Tsukki's back turns on him, shoving to his feet in a spray of dry leaves and heaving his shoulder against the small of his back. Tsukki stumbles, surprised, hitting the ground with a cough when Kentarou jabs his elbow into the same place. He's not sure where his own knife went, probably taken before he woke up or lost when he moved, but it doesn't matter, he can knock these two out without needing a weapon.

He presses his foot down on Tsukki's back when he starts shifting like he wants to get up, still coughing for air after having it knocked out of him. Yamaguchi is staring at him now, and he lets go of Yahaba, gripping the hilt of the knife with both hands.

“T- Tsukki?” He mumbles, his shoulders trembling. Tsukki shakes his head, clawing at the dirt once again.

“Go.” His voice is steady, even slightly choked for air, and to Kentarou's surprise, Yamaguchi doesn't move, shakes his head opens his mouth slightly, trying to make words come out that get stuck.

It occurs to Kentarou a beat too late that they probably think one or both of them is going to die because of this mistake.

The thought clicks in his mind when Yamaguchi is shoving past Yahaba with a knife in his shaking hands. Too late to know that he's pushed their desperation too far. He twists himself, just slightly at the last second, a bright flash of white impulse making his body move. _Can't die_ there's a whispering voice in his head, growing louder into a shriek when the knife sinks into his side, pushed deep by momentum. _Can't die. You swore._

It's a mercy that Yamaguchi lets go of the knife the second it sinks into Kentarou's skin rather than twisting it in place, and Tsukki is already on his feet, dragging his trembling friend by the elbow, sprinting into the night.

The pain doesn't really register until his knees buckle and send him to the ground, and okay, that probably hurts more than the cut across his chest did, throbbing and radiating out from the hole punched in his body.

He sags against Yahaba without really realizing that he's even there, hissing air through his teeth and lifting a hand to grip at his side, trying not to be surprised when it ends up sticky with blood. Yahaba's saying… something that Kentarou can't parse over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Yahaba gives up trying to direct him after a moment, shoving him onto his back instead which he meets with a hiss.

The edges of his vision are fuzzy, but he can see that there are tears in Yahaba's eyes. He twists at the sucking feeling of the knife pulling _out_ of him, and the realization makes him dizzy.

That, or the blood loss.

Yahaba pulls his shirt off, using the knife to cut it into strips, wrapping them around the wound so tightly that Kentarou grunts (shouts? His throat hurts. He can't tell.) from the pressure.

When he finishes, Yahaba's face hovers in his vision again, pressing his fingers against Kentarou's forehead. They're mercifully cold though he didn't notice his skin feeling so hot until the contract appeared. “Can you hear me?”

Kentarou nods slowly, and Yahaba's head drops toward his chest, breathing out a sigh that's probably relief. He leans his forehead against Kentarou's, eyes fluttering shut. “I'm—I'm gonna fix you up in a second, okay? I don't think it hit any of your organs.”

Kentarou nods and tilts his head to the side enough to kiss Yahaba without really thinking about it. It seems like the thing to do, even if it's a clumsy one at best. Yahaba doesn't lean away from the contact, instead, he tilts to find an actual angle to press their lips together, breathing out in slow, trembling measures.

He stays there until they're less kissing and more sharing air, both palms pressed to the wound on Kentarou's side. There's the same cold feeling he had before, and his body twitches again with an instinctive desire to escape it before he forces himself still.

Yahaba's shoulders shake after a moment and he pulls in a harsh gasp, tugging his hands back, the cold feeling fading quickly. He sits up then, looking at Kentarou's side and pressing the makeshift bandages with gentle fingers. It still hurts enough that Kentarou cringes, but not as much as he would have expected. Yahaba smiles slowly, nodding his head. “Y- you're not bleeding anymore, I don't think.”

“Good,” his voice is a croak, and he reaches up the hand _not_ covered with his own blood to hook around the back of Yahaba's neck, kissing him again.

It's a better kiss this time, even if Yahaba's mouth is salty from crying, and there's a spark of desperation passed between the two of them, shared when Yahaba strokes his fingers over Kentarou's cheek and Kentarou squeezes the back of his neck gently.

He grins anyway when Yahaba sits up, still holding onto him the best he can until Yahaba unhooks his fingers and gives them a squeeze, returning them to his side. “You need to rest.”

“If we get robbed again, please don't wake me up,” he huffs, trying to laugh even through it hurts. He can't roll on his side like he usually would, but Yahaba slides his thighs under Kentarou's head and nods, the knife clutched in his other hand.

It's an unsettling image to fall asleep to.

 

If Yahaba was hoping to get to this inn before sundown the next day, he says nothing about it. The rest and magic having helped considerably, Kentarou still has to limp along with one hand clutched at his side the whole way, teeth grit into a harsh line.

Yahaba hovers at his side like a nervous hummingbird but rarely reaches to touch him, which seems slightly odd. There's something distant in his expression, but Kentarou chalks it up to concern or being too thoughtful for his own good.

The sun is making its last effort to be seen when they reach the inn. It's the quietest day Kentarou's spent with Yahaba, and before they reach it he grabs the back of the courtier's arm, gritting his teeth at the extension of his body.

“What's wrong with you?” It's not like _he's_ the one who got stabbed. Yahaba blinks at him, and Kentarou wonders if kissing him was some kind of terrible mistake, or if Yahaba only returned it because he thought Kentarou was going to give up the ghost in the middle of the night.

“Don't worry about it, Kyoutani-kun.” His voice is cold, and the way he shakes Kentarou's hand off probably isn't as harsh as it feels. Something inside him, a hope he didn't know he'd let flicker up in his chest, snuffs out. Yahaba turns back to the inn, walking again with his back turned to Kentarou. “We're even now, don't you figure? No need to concern yourself.”

It takes an effort for Kentarou to get his feet moving again, reeling at the dismissal. He didn't come all this fucking way for Yahaba to tell him what? That Oikawa and Iwaizumi weren't going to need his help anymore?

He grabs at Yahaba again, catching his wrist this time and pulling, ignoring the way it makes his side scream in protest, eyebrows settled low and tight together. He opens his mouth, not sure if he wants to ask a question or just start shouting at Yahaba for being an asshole.

He doesn't get the chance. The door to the inn swings open, with Oikawa sprinting out of it, waving his arms in the air and looking like an absolute idiot, Iwaizumi following after him with an exasperated, fond expression.

“Shi-chan! I knew you weren't dead!” He crashes into Yahaba with enough force that it rattles Kentarou's grip free, his arm dropping to the side again. Oikawa is probably the least dignified king Kentarou could imagine, hugging one of his courtiers in the middle of a dusty road, laughing about it. He draws back after a moment, holding Yahaba by the shoulders, his grin gone lopsided. “You look terrible.”

Iwaizumi swats Oikawa's arms off Yahaba with a roll of his eyes, glowering like he's considering whacking Yahaba upside the head as well. “It's not like getting here was easy, dumbass.”

“Well, he had…” Oikawa leans to the side, taking in Kentarou with a slow blink of his eyes. “Kyoken-chan. That's a surprise.”

“I didn't have time for being picky,” Yahaba sighs, and Kentarou shrinks further back, meeting Iwaizumi's stare with only the barest nod of his head. Iwaizumi frowns in response, his eyes narrowing before shaking his head.

“C'mon. We'll get rooms for both of you,” he shoves Oikawa back toward the doors, lagging behind to give Kentarou a moment to shuffle after them, matching his pace. He watches Oikawa carefully even after they get inside, listening to him charm the elderly innkeeper into two more rooms on their tab.

He reaches out and pats his hand on Kentarou's shoulder, glancing at the wrapped wound on his side with a little quirk of a smile. “You did a good job, thank you.”

Kentarou hums just slightly in agreement, finding it strange that he's _disappointed_ that Yahaba's room is on the other side of the one Oikawa and Iwaizumi are sharing. He doesn't comment, instead just lets himself collapse into the provided bed, staring at the ceiling instead.

It's obvious Yahaba doesn't want him.

The thought stings more than it has any right to, and he pushes it away quickly, trying instead to come up with a list of things he can do now that he's apparently no longer a knight for Aoba Johsai. His best bet is probably as a mercenary, though when he considers returning to that or stealing, his chest aches with the memory of the pair of desperate kids trying to rob them the night before.

He falls asleep on his back, side aching too much for anything else, and he most certainly _doesn't_ dream about Yahaba watching over him while he was injured.

There wouldn't be a point to dreams like that, or dreams of it meaning anything _more_.

 

When he drags himself out of bed late the next day, Iwaizumi informs him that Yahaba's already gone on some task for Oikawa. He doesn't offer any details, Kyoutani doesn't ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Up Next: Yahaba Shigeru on the drawbacks of blood oaths, and the rebuilding of a country.


End file.
